Edgar Skins Novels & Stories

Officer Smith asks, staring at me and believing that I'm a extra-terrestrial. "Mwen fenk soti nan magazen likè a epi mwen tounen lakay mwen. Non, mwen pa etranje oswa mwen gen yon maladi po. Mwen te fèt ak koulè po sa a ak tout fanmi mwen genyen li. (I just came from the liquor store and I'm heading back home. No, I'm not an alien or have a skin condition. I was born with this skin color and my whole family has it.)" I explain myself to the officers.

I raised my head up slowly to find Edgar's face sticking in the narrowly opened door of my office. "Apparently." I shrugged. "What do you want?" Edgar let himself in fully and shut the door softly. "It's not me who wants something this time, it's pack business." Edgar sat on the chair in front of me and crossed his legs. He opened the clipped documents in his hand, placing it in front of me, he said "I was in the lowlands all day, yesterday and this morning. I think I found something which might interest you."

"How did you know?" one of the men exclaimed, reaching for the stun baton in his pocket. Debra casually touched the crest on their chests. "The logo is wrong. Be more careful with your forgeries." She turned around and raised her voice. "I'm already here, Mr. Odom. Why don't you come out with Miss Eaton? We'll have a little chat." Soon, a figure emerged from the abandoned factory. In just half a month, Edgar had become extremely haggard. His face was covered in stubble. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was dirty.

Edgar said after Elissa refused him. "Yes!" replied Elissa. She secretly smiled, too. It had been almost a month since she heard her husband's voice. And now, when Elissa's ears and body felt Edgar's attention again, Elissa could not keep her smile. "I don't want your skin covered with millions of skincare dollars to get hurt. It's a shame for the money," continued Edgar. Elissa, who heard it, was dumbfounded. What did Edgar say? He didn't want Elissa to get hurt because she covered her skin with millions of dollars of skin care. How annoying.

He made a copy of Edgar's data and created a fake ID for his son to facilitate their mission. Without significant obstacles, Edgar and Martin successfully entered the club. Edgar’s appearance that night gave no impression of a high school student; his tall, athletic build was complemented by a sleek black suit from a high-end brand, and his slicked-back undercut hairstyle exuded masculinity and class. Martin surveyed the surroundings, trying to locate the secret door that would lead them to the special auction room, as per the information Kingston provided. While waiting for Martin’s cue, Edgar was surrounded by women and omega men, all mesmerized by his looks.

Behind him, gift piles to the ceiling; backdrop screamed old money. "A trillion-plus in shares!" Edgar yanked at his tie, eyes gone feral, barking laughs. "Well played." "Ha ha ha~" His wild cackles echoed off the walls.

It's been a week since I've been back, but it really doesn't feel like it. Time goes by really slowly lately, and I don't even look forward to the next, afraid of what another day might bring to the party. With Sean's help, I'm completely healed of every pain and my burnt and bruised skin now looks just like it was before the incident.

Hi, everyone! This is Curvy Writes, and first things first: I need to take a deep, dramatic bow and then just collapse on the nearest couch. Because, people, we did it! I just want to say a massive, soul-hugging, confetti-tossing THANK YOU to every single one of you who has been reading my short story, "In Her Skin." Seriously, from the bottom of my slightly exhausted but extremely grateful heart, thank you. You guys have been the absolute best audience a writer could ask for.

“Skipping breakfast again?” His voice, calm, smooth, faintly amused sliced through the quiet. I froze, fingers still resting on a page about mental barriers. I turned slowly. Edgar stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, dressed in black embroidered velvet that caught the light like dark water. “I lost track of time,” I said lightly, closing the book before he could see what I was reading. His gaze flicked to the table, where several other books lay open all of them suspiciously ancient. “It seems you’ve been busy.”